


Emrys Revealed

by Fictionista654



Series: Merlin is a God AUs [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28643685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: There is a god loose in Camelot.At least, according to the Druids. The longer that Arthur extends his welcome to the strange folk of the forest, the more that come into Camelot to do business. And with the swell of Druids comes a swell of whispers.“They worship a god called Emrys,” Elyan reports to the Round Table one day. “They believe him to be in the city, and are treating Camelot as a sort of pilgrimage site.”
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin is a God AUs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1693066
Comments: 41
Kudos: 535





	Emrys Revealed

Merlin is beautiful when he sleeps.

By the light of the stars and moon, Arthur traces his lover’s cheekbone with his thumb, following its sharp curve. He brushes the back of his hand against his cheek, savoring the hint of stubble. With the tip of his index finger, he gently dimples the plush flesh of his lip. 

In his sleep, Merlin frowns. “No,” he mumbles against Arthur’s fingers. “’m’not.” His voice is heavy with sleep, and Arthur knows that Merlin does not know what he is saying. He pulls back his hand and waits for Merlin’s face to smooth out again, for all trace of worry to leave.

Sometimes, when he’s lying on his side like this, staring down at his manservant, Arthur is choked with adoration. It’s strong enough to hurt. His heart aches as he looks down at the man he loves.

Merlin’s grown in the years Arthur has known him. He’s no longer a gangly youth of nineteen, quick-witted and cheeky. He’s a man, now, his chest and arms filled out with muscle, his expression solemn more often than not.

Arthur wishes he could press his head to Merlin’s and _understand_. He wants to know what weighs Merlin down. 

As if he can sense Arthur’s gaze, Merlin’s lashes flutter. Arthur holds his breath, but it’s too late. Merlin is waking up, sleep sluicing from him like a shed skin. 

“Arthur?” he says. It’s cold enough for his breath to mist the air, and he glances irritably towards the dying fire. 

“I believe that’s your job,” Arthur says, raising a brow.

Merlin buries his face in Arthur’s chest. “You do it.”

“A king doesn’t light his own fires,” Arthur murmurs in Merlin’s ear. Merlin sighs, a drawn-out, put-upon sound, and shoves the covers back. Both Arthur and Merlin are naked, and the cold bites terribly.

“Arse,” Arthur mutters.

“Prat.” Merlin stalks across the room on bare feet and grabs the fire poker. Arthur can’t see quite what he does, but in a moment the fire is burning merrily. It’s probably Arthur’s imagination, but the room feels warmer already.

Merlin pauses on his way back to Arthur’s bed, standing in a patch of silvery moonlight. Arthur stares at the beautiful lines of Merlin’s form. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says suddenly, then stops.

“I don’t have all night, Merlin,” says Arthur when Merlin’s reluctance to finish his thought becomes apparent. 

“It’s nothing,” Merlin says, his face unreadable in the dark. 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Come on, then. Spit it out.”

Merlin leaps onto the bed, making Arthur bounce. A moment later, Merlin is pressing the length of his body against Arthur’s, hungrily slipping his tongue into Arthur’s mouth. 

It shouldn’t be this easy to distract the King of Camelot, but Arthur has never been able to resist kissing Merlin back.

***

There is a god loose in Camelot.

At least, according to the Druids. The longer that Arthur extends his welcome to the strange folk of the forest, the more that come into Camelot to do business. And with the swell of Druids comes a swell of whispers.

“They worship a god called Emrys,” Elyan reports to the Round Table one day. “They believe him to be in the city, and are treating Camelot as a sort of pilgrimage site.”

There’s a clatter, and something wet splashes over Arthur’s leg. He looks around, sighing impatiently when he sees that Merlin has dropped his water pitcher.

“Honestly, Merlin, can’t you do anything right?” he says sharply. Merlin sullenly ducks his head, and Arthur feels a twist of regret.

“You can’t blame him,” says Gwaine, his eyes shining. “He’s had a long night.” He scratches his jaw, right where Merlin has a love-bite.

Arthur surveys Gwaine coldly. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” he tells his knight. Gwaine shrugs.

“Are you sure this Emrys is a god?” says Lancelot. He looks nonplussed, and Arthur doesn’t blame him. The last thing they need is some pagan god running around the citadel. Of course, that assumes that Emrys is real. Arthur hasn’t seen any evidence.

“Emrys is a god born to a human woman,” Elyan says firmly. “I talked with some of them this morning. They come to pay their respects to Him. They had a goat with them to sacrifice.” 

A goat. Of course. Arthur runs his fingers through his hair. “If we’re to maintain peace with the Druids, we’ll have to allow them their customs,” he thinks out loud. “But I mislike this.”

“As do I, sire,” says Elyan, clearly looking uneasy. “The way they spoke about Him…it was like they thought He would appear before them any moment. One even told me that she caught a glimpse of Him yesterday.”

“A glimpse of a god?” Leon says, frowning. 

Elyan nods. “They had a title for him, a long one. Emrys, Keeper of Albion, Bringer of Magic, Raiser of Kings, etc. etc.” 

Arthur has little fondness for magic, and the news that Druids are seeking a scion of magic in Camelot bothers him. But he has just allowed the Druids back; it would not look well for him to send them straight back out.

That night, Arthur watches Merlin sleep. He holds his palm above Merlin’s heart and feels the rise and fall of his chest. 

***

The Druids in the throne room are not afraid of Arthur. They either barely seem to notice him or they stare at him so intently that he squirms under their combined gaze. Their words are not for him. They ask for things he cannot give. Rain, a baby, a year of good luck.

“Yes,” he mutters into Merlin’s ear on this last request. “I’ll just send you to get it from my year of good luck collection.” Merlin grins at him.

Each time he receives such a ridiculous envoy, he thanks them for making their concerns known and sends them away without doing a thing. How is he supposed to give someone’s old mother another five years of life? Or bring the milk back to a cow? But the Druids kneel before him and asked for such impossibilities.

Arthur consults Gaius, who seems just as baffled as he was. “I really couldn’t tell you, sire,” he says. “Perhaps…”

“Yes?” Arthur says quickly, eager for the answer.

Gaius shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing. I spoke too quickly.”

“Gaius, if you thought of something and are hiding it from me…” 

For this remark, he receives Gaius’s eyebrow.

***

“What do you think?” Arthur says that night. He’s lying back in bed, watching Merlin undress. 

“Think about what?” says Merlin, pulling his shirt off over his head. His hair springs free, dark and messy. He shucks his trousers and kicks them away before diving beneath the blankets. Arthur watches with an amused smile as Merlin crawls up to the top of the bed and pops his head out of the covers. Merlin’s smiling too. Arthur almost forgets himself and reaches for Merlin, but he remembers just in time.

“The Druids,” says Arthur. “What do you think of the Druids?”

Merlin’s mask slips.

Arthur can see it happening. He can see the sudden exhaustion on Merlin’s face, the dullness in his eyes. And then it’s gone, and Merlin is laughing again. 

Cold discomfort breaks over Arthur. His skin prickles. 

“What?” says Merlin, still smiling. He reaches out a hand and puts it to Arthur’s face, but Arthur pulls back. Dread fills his body. He doesn’t know why his reaction should be this extreme. But for a moment, just a moment, he glimpsed a part of Merlin he hadn’t known existed.

After this, Arthur watches Merlin more carefully. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, only that he’s afraid to find it.

***

On patrol, they meet Druids in the forest. They are wearing robes, dark blues and greens, and golden chains around their necks. They say that they are waiting for Emrys.

“You are always welcome in Camelot,” Arthur tells them. 

“There is no need,” says the oldest, her eyes warm. “Emrys has already blessed us with His presence.”

Arthur raises his brows. “All right, then,” he says. 

The Druid woman laughs. “You don’t believe me.”

“Your faith is your own matter,” he tells her. 

On the way back, he again asks Merlin what he thinks.

“About?” says Merlin. His reins are held loosely in his hands; his posture screams insouciance. 

Arthur waits a moment, his eyes lingering on Merlin’s face. “Emrys,” he says at last.

Merlin’s face remains blank. His eyes flick toward Arthur. “How should I know anything about Emrys?”

“Careful,” Arthur warns. “You might want to speak to your king with a little more respect.”

“I’ll speak to you however I want,” Merlin says peevishly. It’s a strange, unMerlin way to speak. He’s impudent, always impudent, but he never sounds so waspish as he does now. In a way, he almost reminds Arthur of himself. 

“Merlin,” Arthur says. “I hear there’s a wonderful spot in the dungeons. Plenty of fresh hay on the floor.”

Merlin looks away. The sunlight limns his face golden. There is something ethereal about him, other-worldly. Goosebumps sprout on Arthur’s arms. Then Merlin looks back, and suddenly he is himself again. 

“At least I won’t have to listen to you snore in the dungeons,” says Merlin, his voice bright. It’s a peace offering, if Arthur wants to accept it.

He wonders if it over occurs to Merlin that Arthur could have him executed for this sort of behavior. He has so much power over his manservant’s life, and Merlin has so little power over Arthur’s.

Only that’s not entirely true. Because when Merlin speaks, Arthur listens.

Which is why he wants to know Merlin’s fucking opinion on Emrys.

Which Merlin seems reluctant to give.

Arthur wonders why.

***

And wonders. And wonders. He wonders about it while he sits on his throne, and he wonders about it on the practice field, and he wonders about it while eating dinner, and he wonders about it when Merlin’s mouth is on his cock.

There are other things that worry Arthur. Merlin seems to get distracted easily, now. Oh, he was always distractible, but now Arthur will find him gazing into thin air, his mouth moving silently. It’s eery, is what it is, but Arthur doesn’t know what to do about it.

One night, in bed, Arthur lifts himself on an elbow and gazes down at his manservant. “I know you worship Emrys.”

He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Maybe it’s the way Merlin reacts every time the god is brought up, like he can’t be anywhere else fast enough. The look on his face, that first time Arthur asked, definitely has something to do with it.

But Arthur has percolated on the question, and he thinks he has an answer.

Merlin laughs. 

He laughs so long and so hard that Arthur becomes alarmed. Then the laughter turns to tears. Merlin sobs into Arthur’s chest, his shoulders shaking. 

Arthur doesn’t ask again.

***

So Merlin has a secret, and Arthur knows that Merlin has a secret, and Merlin knows that Arthur knows, and Arthur knows that Merlin knows that he knows, and they never talk about it. Once it’s spoken aloud, something between them will break forever. And maybe they’ll forge another bond, a stronger one, but there will still be that terrible moment of freewheeling uncertainty when Merlin’s secret thrusts them apart.

Arthur wonders. Of course he wonders. He tries not to, but he watches his manservant/lover with a sharp eye. He watches, and he waits. One day, he knows, this will come to an end. 

He just needs a little more time. A little more time with Merlin as _Merlin_ and not whatever unknowable creature hides behind that facade.

Because Arthur knows it’s a facade. Maybe parts of it are real, pieces of Merlin’s own personality that he has carefully plucked and put on display. But his true self is his whole self, and that Arthur has never met.

The solution Arthur finally hits upon is that Merlin is a Druid. He never talks about his father; maybe the man was a sorcerer. Arthur wouldn’t blame Merlin for that. He of all people knows that the son cannot be judged on the father.

But.

If Merlin were a Druid, why not just say? It would sting, yes, to know that Merlin had lied to him all these years. But all things considered, being a Druid wasn’t that bad, at least not anymore.

Maybe Merlin is a Druid spy.

This idea holds a little more currency, as it would explain Merlin’s secret self.

Arthur doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t know if he wants to know. And you know how that goes.

***

One night, Merlin stands at the foot of the bed. He is wearing, in Arthur’s opinion, entirely too many clothes. Terrifyingly, he wears no expression.

“What is it,” Arthur says sharply. He is already in bed, but now he sits up straight, his heart pounding annoyingly. “Spit it out, Merlin.” He can feel the secret in the room with them, enormous and life-altering. At any moment, it could crush them.

After a moment, Merlin smiles and shrugs. 

“Nothing,” he says. “It was nothing.”

***

In the end, it is a Druid girl who cracks the secret open like an oyster shell, revealing the tender meat of the truth. She stands in front of the throne with her hair in two braids and her hands hanging loosely by her sides.

“My father,” she says, her chin raised. “He was attacked and killed by bandits. I want you to bring him back.”

Arthur stares at her. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, and truly he is, but what the hell does she mean by this? “But I can’t do that.”

“I know,” she says, “but he can.” 

Arthur follows her line of sight and nearly laughs when he sees that she’s looking at Merlin. “I’m afraid that my manservant cannot do that either,” he tells her gently. “But we can look for the men who did this—”

“No,” she says. “I don’t want the men who did this. I want my father. Please, Emrys.”

The entire court draws in a breath. By now, news of Emrys is everywhere. There is no one in Camelot who does not know of him.

And this girl think that Merlin is he.

It’s ridiculous. Unthinkable. But—

“Merlin?” Arthur says quietly. “Why does she think that you’re a god?”

Merlin’s face is still, though his eyes glitter wildly. He doesn’t look at Arthur. His eyes are fixed instead on the girl’s.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, and somehow his quiet voice is loud enough to fill the room. “But there is only one god who has control over life and death, and I killed her.”

It is quiet enough to hear a hatpin drop. Arthur curls his fingers around the arms of his throne.

Merlin steps of the dais and walks towards the girl and nobody moves. She is crying now, tears spilling from her chin to the stone floor.

“I thought you could,” she says, wiping at her eyes. “I thought you were the one.”

Merlin kneels in front of her and puts his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says again. They share a long look, and then the girl steps back. 

“That’s not enough.”

“I know.”

This has gone on long enough. Arthur rises from his throne, his head spinning. Merlin’s stopped playing the secrets game, and Arthur is lost. 

“Merlin’s not a god,” he says, just to say it. Then he sees Gaius, and the old man’s stricken expression tells him everything he needs to know. This isn’t a charade. Merlin is Emrys. _Merlin_ is _Emrys_. 

And now Merlin is rising and turning to face him. He looks up at Arthur, his lips parted. He licks them, then swallows. 

“What are you.” The words hang in the air as Arthur waits for Merlin to catch them.

There are at least a hundred people in the room, but they barely exist. Merlin is the object of Arthur’s focus.

“I am Emrys,” says Merlin, his words low yet ringing. “I am the god born of a human woman, and I have many names. I am the magic-bringer, the raiser of kings, the undying one.” And Arthur can feel his presence, the enormity of it, and, yes, it crushes him. Gwaine gives a whoop. 

“Everyone out,” Arthur says, and his words sound like they’re coming from underwater. “ _Out!_ ” 

“Sire,” says Leon, and he looks like he’s seen death. “Are you sure it’s safe?” 

Safe. Safe to be with Merlin. Arthur nearly laughs.

“Out,” he repeats. 

The throne-room doors shut behind the last courtier. Arthur steps off the dais and walks towards the god.

“Did I ever know you?”

Merlin tilts his head. There’s something inhuman about the way he does it. He’s moving with a strange grace, Arthur realizes. A grace he’s never had before.

“Of course you knew me,” says Merlin, but there’s a timber to his voice that has never been there before. For whatever reason, Merlin— _Emrys_ —has decided to stop hiding. “I didn’t want to lie to you.”

Arthur knows that he should be furious. But his fury is a long way off, locked beneath the numbing shock. He steps off the dais and walks towards Merlin. His feet barely feel like they’re touching the ground. 

“You’re a god,” he says brokenly. “Damnit, Merlin. Damn you.” There are tears on his cheeks. “You lay in my bed. You pretended to be mine.”

“I _am_ yours,” Merlin says, and the desperation in his voice makes him sound almost human. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright. “I’m yours forever. Everything I have, I use it for you.” And Merlin is crying too, and Arthur never knew a god could cry.

“Why now?” says Arthur. “Why reveal yourself now? You could have lied. You could have continued to pretend.” 

Merlin shakes his head. “I’m tired, Arthur. I’m tired of pretending.” And suddenly, he looks exhausted. There are lines on his face Arthur has never noticed before. “I don’t want to hold myself back anymore. I want to give all myself to you.” He takes a step forward, and now they are standing barely a foot apart. The air hums between them.

Now that Arthur knows, he can’t believe he ever didn’t. There was a time, just minutes ago, when he thought Merlin was human. But he was wrong. Gods, he was wrong.

Gods. Merlin’s a god.

“The Druids,” Arthur realizes. “They were never talking to me. It was always you. When they asked me for miracles, they were asking you.”

Merlin nods. “I fulfilled them as best I could,” he says, “though some were beyond my power.” 

“Right,” Arthur says. “Because you killed the goddess of life and death.” 

Merlin doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to. The silence stretches between them, vast and seemingly impregnable. 

Then Merlin hangs his head. His eyes flinch closed. “I’ll go,” he says quietly. “I won’t stop protecting you, but I’ll go somewhere you’ll never have to see me.”

“No!” Arthur doesn’t know what he’s going to do until his hand is clutching Merlin’s shoulder. He stares into his lover’s face, his lips trembling. “No. I command to stay.”

Merlin looks up tentatively. His face is more open than Arthur has ever seen it. “You command me?”

“Yes,” Arthur says softly. “You’re still my subject, are you not?”

Merlin lays his head on Arthur’s shoulder, their cheeks touching. “Arthur, I will always be your subject.” 

And Arthur leans into Merlin, breathes him in. He knows that Merlin could snap him in two if he wanted to. He knows that Merlin is something strange, something he will never understand.

But he’s Arthur’s, and maybe that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I just finished this and idk not feeling super strong about it BUT I posted it anyway bc I am having some severe WRITER'S BLOCK and hopefully this will JUMPSTART some more WRITING why am I WRITING like THIS idk okay bye
> 
> Join me on [tumblr](https://fictionista654.tumblr.com/)!


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